Perfect Lie
by Nocturnal Serenade
Summary: What is the truth and what is the lie of Kidd's past? Slightly AU but it COULD possibly work in the game.


Perfect Lie  
  
Disclaimer: Chrono Cross and all of the characters belong to Squaresoft and not me. This fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only.  
  
Notes: This a story about Kidd's thoughts on her past.  
  
'Why am I running?' I wondered. Am I trying to escape? If so, then from what? From the world that I called Home and vowed my life to protect, yet was stolen forcibly wrenched from my grasp so quick and painless that the memories from it were fading like the stars at daybreak? Or was I being trailed, trailed by my fears, my worries and my deepest shadows? Something I told none of?  
  
All my life, I've lived a lie. From painful second to painful second, it's driven me closer and closer to the edge of the world, the edge of such a frail world, crumbling at the mention destruction. I can remember the day my parents were killed and my life torn from the firm grasp I once had on it. I can remember the intense heat of the flames as they swarmed my orphanage, slowly but steadily ripping everything apart, all I've got, all I've known, and all I love. All I could do was watch helplessly as this insane inferno consumed my home and my entire life with it.  
  
I don't know how I was able to accept that fact that Lucca and my friends were all dead.  
  
I moved on to live in yet a home for orphans, a home that was so unfitting to be called home. Everyday, they beat me and put me out into the fields to work. I never received the amount of the food I needed. I never received the amount of sleep I needed. When the plague came, my friends died. The orphanage keepers would not treat them. But I survived. I survived thanks to, though I cannot explain how I know, Lucca. But everything was taken away from me again, all my friends whom I promised I would be close to forever. All I could do was cry.  
  
But I cry no more.  
  
I was an optimist, a cheerful, tomboyish, and extroverted optimist. I can talk all day and never lose my breath, never become weary. I tell my friends my story, my story that has been so perfectly crafted and was exotically beautiful. My story crafted by a sculptor who skills greatly exceeded the finest sculptor in El Nido. No one feels sorry for me and no one pities me. My life is perfect. They believe everything I say, awed at my perfect being.  
  
And they know nothing.  
  
My childhood became one of wonderful and beautiful memories that I told my friends who enviously listened. Everyday I would go outside early in the morning and sit on the edge of the precipice that looked towards the magnificent ocean and watch as the sun rose. Everyday I would run on the streets of my small yet cozy town, laughing all day and playing until I had to be dragged home. At night, my parents would tuck me into bed and tell me wonderful stories of a faraway place that I would someday journey to. They would tell me that everything would always be fine. Everything will always be perfect.  
  
That is my story. That is my perfect lie.  
  
I don't know where I come from, or where I'm headed, other than the fact that it promises certain death. I can feel my destiny calling out to me from beyond the sky where the sun had long since burned itself out. I reach for my future, the beautiful future that comes with no sorrow and no pain. I reach with all my might and hope with all my will, but my destiny escapes. I want to cry, but I remembered that I would not. I will never cry.  
  
They come unbidden, these teardrops. I have not shed a tear in many years; I don't know what they feel like anymore. They were damp and have a salty taste, bitter to my tongue. They run down my cheeks and splash into the ground, dispersing into nothingness. My sorrow doesn't leave with them as much as I wish it to. They don't know how much I wish that I could just cry my heart out, letting all the tears from my life spill and return to the world, my sorrow flowing out from me and shattered like thin ice, shatter into a million pieces and I will be whole again.  
  
But that cannot happen. I'm powerless to the will of my mind and at the mercy of my destiny pounding at my soul. I can't fight back. I'm too weak, too scared and my grip on living won't falter. It always seems to work against me. The more I want death, the more I crave for an eternity of happiness, the more I want life, the more I crave for its wondrous ways and the millions of locks waiting for me to be the key and open them. But I cannot.  
  
I left the key in that burning orphanage all those years ago.  
  
End Notes: Whew! That was weird. At least I thought it was. It was kinda different from Kidd's actual story but I decided I liked to changes so I kept them. So tell me what you think if you want. 


End file.
